Sunday, October 15th, 2023
Our adventure began with Warren and Ansel, snuggled together in their wagon, journeying into the crisp promise of a mid-October morning. Despite the sun’s gentle warmth, Ansel clutched a blanket — a soft shield against the autumn chill. I sensed the day ahead would etch itself into our memories, beautiful in its ordinariness.
Warren formed a protective cocoon within the wagon around Ansel, giving herself enough room to read her book. As pages turned, punctuating the quiet, Ansel’s curious voice would rise, questioning my every photograph. Our path meandered toward Hyde Park, a place of simple delights. Today felt different, magical somehow, and I captured each moment, not wanting to let any fragment slip away, thinking of how Colie would love to share this with us.
Our neighborhood was a canvas of autumnal fireworks — trees in explosive colors, leaves like sparks flying in the wind. Every now and then, a particularly stunning tree would halt our journey. “Look at this masterpiece, Warren!” I’d exclaim, coaxing her attention away from her book. Together, we’d count the colors, and even though skeptical about Ansel’s claim of seeing purple, I allowed her conviction to sway my imagination.
Hyde Park, ever charming, welcomed us warmly. We anchored our wagon at the threshold of Certified Coffee, where the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods lured us inside. While waiting in line, a medley of children’s books on display captured our attention, and Warren asked to be read to. As we navigated a short story of two sisters learning the art of sharing within the confines of the café, I realized that these small moments, strung together, were the pearls of our existence.
We settled on a bench outside, the world gently spinning around us as I sipped my coffee, and the girls shared a Halloween cookie, sprinkles like tiny moments of joy scattered over it. They didn’t quarrel over the treat, perhaps influenced by the story’s moral, or maybe, just content in each other’s company. With Colie away, I was gifted this undiluted time with them, each second a brushstroke of magic on our canvas of family life.
Camel’s Back Park beckoned as our next haven. With Warren in a cast, I had set no expectations of playground antics. Yet, Ansel’s yearning eyes convinced me to strike a deal, binding an uphill trek and playground promise together. Incentives, I’ve learned, serve as silent guardians in the realm of parenthood. Post a hurried bathroom dash and water bottle refill, we surrendered our wagon to the shade and sprinted across the grass, hearts racing to the hill’s challenge.
Our ascent was a tapestry of small adventures — etching words in the sand, gathering forgettable rocks, and pausing where tiny creatures demanded our wonder. With Ansel in my arms, we conquered the summit, breathless more from the shared triumph than the climb. The panoramic view of Boise’s tree-laden horizon was a reward in itself. We absorbed the moment in silent reverence, a snapshot of tranquility amidst life’s relentless hustle.
Perched atop our rocky throne, we shared a silent pact, understanding that these quiet moments were the hidden treasures of life. Ansel’s reminder of the playground promise guided us back to the realm of laughter and squeals. We descended, leaving behind our rock collection, an acceptable sacrifice to the housekeeping gods.
Freedom marked their faces as Warren and Ansel explored the playground’s offerings. Warren, resilient as ever, sought the thrill of the slide, her cast a mere afterthought. Ansel, my brave little explorer, conquered mountains in her world, her victory slide echoing her internal triumph. “You’re doing great, Ansel!” I cheered, heart swelling with joy.
They had found themselves jumping up and down on a slatted bridge, undulating in joy. Capturing these perfect fragments for Colie, I was the silent observer of their magical world. As I looked away to send her one, I didn’t notice Ansel propel over the railing, but my mind filled it in. The world slowed down as Ansel fell head-first to the ground, and even though it fell like eternity, I was too late to catch her.
She rolled onto her face, her torso curling over the back of her head like a scorpion’s tail stinging its prey, injecting me with sheer terror. Never had I seen a body bend and fold like this. She hit the ground so hard, like the dead weight of a rock falling from the sky, collapsing into silence—the sound of death. My voice, laced with panic, sliced through the thick curtain of fear, “Help! I need help! My daughter fell!” I thought she was dead.
Confusion and dread danced a macabre ballet in my mind. Paralyzed by the horror of the what-ifs, I barely registered the comforting presence of strangers, their voices a distant echo. One mother, an angel in human guise, anchored me back to reality with her calm assurance. With trembling hands, I surrendered Ansel to the examination of kind Samaritans, my mind a tornado of fear and gratitude. Ansel was quiet, and her body felt boneless, like water. But as I looked at her, there was life.
As Ansel sipped water, each tiny gulp seemed to replenish my soul, parched from the inferno of panic. A collective sigh, a shared relief, and we were a family unit again, albeit shaken. The journey back was a blur, my mind replaying the fall, trapping me in a torturous loop. Each ring during my phone call to Colie felt like a countdown to my confession, an admission that our perfect day had almost crumbled into despair.
Night gave way to day, and Colie’s return was a balm to our rattled spirits. Her strength fortified me, guiding me to seek help and unravel the knotted emotions and fears strangling my peace. Professional help wasn’t a surrender but a pathway to healing, to understanding that my terror mirrored the depth of my love.
After some time with a therapist, a revelation dawned — in my most horrifying moment lay the most profound evidence of love. My daughters saw, perhaps for the first time, the raw, unfiltered fear in their father’s eyes. But they also saw love in action, protective and fierce.
Bravery isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the will to move forward despite it. That fall, it wasn’t just Ansel who tumbled; we all did, in different ways. Yet, here we stand, a little wiser, a lot more grateful, and undeniably closer. Forward we go, with courage, with love, with each other.
World of Illusions 